


Buttons

by BuckinghamAlice



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 23:00:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17031570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuckinghamAlice/pseuds/BuckinghamAlice
Summary: After a night of drinking and sex, Napoleon is annoyed to have to chase down the buttons that got ripped off his new shirt.





	Buttons

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost from tumblr of something I wrote a couple of years ago, cross posting just in case

Napoleon woke up far too early, due to the pounding in his head and the foul taste in his mouth.  He sat up slowly and glanced over his shoulder to check on Illya, who was still sleeping, naked and beautiful.  Napoleon thought hard to remember the details of the night before, but things remained rather vague.  With a little shrug, he spilled out of bed and made his way to the bathroom, not bothering to turn on any lights.  He had had a lot to drink the night before… Gaby, and even the usually more or less sober Illya, had tied one on, too.  

When he went back into their bedroom, planning to attempt to go back to sleep, he stepped on something small and hard and had to hold back a swear.  He bent over to pick the item up, and realized with some surprise that it was a button.  The kind on his new shirt he’d been wearing the night before.

“Oh right,” he muttered, smiling to himself.  Illya had practically ripped his shirt off of him when they got home the night before, as he had thrown him down on their bed.  Napoleon would have been pretty pleased with himself for being able to drive his Peril quite so crazy if he didn’t now have to resew several buttons onto his shirt.

He found the garment in question on the floor and sighed.  All but the top two buttons, which Napoleon had unbuttoned early in the night, would have to be sewn back on.  Since he was awake, he figured he’d gather up the buttons for later, when the sun was up and the shirt would be easier to mend.

But he searched the floor all over their bedroom and found no more buttons.

“Damn Peril,” he groaned.  He walked over to their bed and climbed up next to Illya. “You owe me a shirt.”

Illya grumbled sleepily and tried not to move.

Napoleon snuggled into him more.  “Your inhuman strength and insatiable sex drive ruined a perfectly good shirt.”

“Did not ruin shirt, Cowboy,” Illya grumbled.  He pulled Napoleon even closer, and added, “You tell me to rip off clothes, so I did.”

“You pulled off almost every button,” Napoleon complained.  “And I can’t find them.”

Illya yawned. “Buttons in mug on kitchen table, Cowboy.  You tried to pick them up last night and fell asleep.”

Napoleon raised an eyebrow.  “You put them away?”

“You fell asleep, I put you to bed, picked up buttons, went to sleep,” Illya answered.  “Was very simple, Cowboy.”

Napoleon smiled to himself.  His Peril really was good to him.  But as it wouldn’t be terribly fun to say that, instead he asked, “Then you don’t know how to sew?  Or did you just not want to put them back on for me?”

“I like shirt without buttons,” Illya replied.  “Maybe take off the others now… would be faster than mending.”

Napoleon shook his head and yawned, then kissed his Peril softly.  “That’s ridiculous. I’d look good, but that’s not how decent people dress themselves.”

“Good thing Cowboy is not decent,” Illya replied, kissing Napoleon’s temple.

Napoleon tilted his head up and kissed Illya on the lips again and snuggled very close to him.  He’d sew the buttons later.  He’d make coffee and breakfast later.  For now he’d just sleep.

Illya huffed a little laugh.  “Breath smells terrible.  Like dead fish.  No more kissing.”

Napoleon huffed and breathed right in Illya’s face.  “I’m going back to sleep.  Needn’t worry about me kissing you.”

Illya ducked his face and yawned.  “Good.  Brush teeth, then kiss me.”

“Sleep,  _then_  brush my teeth,  _then_  sew my shirt,” Napoleon corrected. “Kissing you isn’t on the schedule.”  

The threat might have carried more weight, had Illya not fallen asleep… and as much as Napoleon wanted to wake him and bother him, this wasn’t the time. He’d been right before… time for sleep.


End file.
